Out of Darkness
by Rachel West
Summary: ÉomerLothìriel A year after the War of the Ring, the King of the Mark rides to visit his sister in her new home and there discovers a mystery he must unravel in the strange, widowed woman who wanders the house.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One  
  
Hello, all! A note before I begin: this is my first story about LOTR. I drew inspiration from a book I just read. Actually, a play by Shakespeare. The main content of the second chapter is a parallel between the play and LOTR. Props to anyone who can name the play. Other than that, read, enjoy, review. //Rachel\\  
  
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Long had been the days since last he rode forth from his kingdom. Almost a year since the War of the Ring, Éomer, King of the Mark, had only just deemed his land safe enough for his absence. He had left men in defence of Edoras as a precaution, but his heart was sure that they would not be required to perform their duties. For even as he rode with few attendants to Ithilien, the Riders of Rohan drove the last few Orcs from their realm.  
Éomer smiled to himself, to think of how his people would live in fear no longer. And of course, he would soon see Éowyn his sister, from whom he had been absent far too long. He had ridden swiftly, and the small entourage was fast approaching Ithilien. Indeed it was not long before Éomer could see the white glint of the home of his sister and brother-in- law, where it sat perched atop a small hill. He spurred his horse on, riding just before his banner. They were admitted through the gates at once; word of their coming must have gone before them, for the scouts of Ithilien were many, even in these peaceful days. And Éomer knew beyond doubt this was true, for he and his attendants had scare reached the house when Éomer saw the figure of his sister, robed in white, eagerly awaiting them at the top of the stairs that led to the doors.  
"Sister!" he cried, grinning openly and tossing the reins of his horse to the man beside him. Éowyn raced down the stone stairs and straight into her brother's arms, and they embraced for a while, as is common with those separated for so long.  
Only when the voice of Faramir sounded from behind did Éowyn disentangle herself from her brother's arms.  
"You've proved a worthy opponent, Éomer," said Faramir, smiling at his wife. "I say now that the greatest fear I have faced this past year is whether it was you she held more beloved or me."  
"A brother's love is sacred in its own right," Éowyn replied, leading Éomer up the stairs, where he and Faramir embraced warmly.  
"You are good to come," said Faramir to his wife's brother. "Your people will suffer in your absence, for word has spread of the high regard in which you are held."  
"The people of Rohan are not feeble," Éomer replied, bowing his head modestly at the last of Faramir's words. "They will do well without their king, for a little while. But without their fair lady, they do suffer greatly." "You take all humility and leave none for me," Éowyn chided him. She took his arm and began to make for the doors of the house, her other arm in her husband's. "But come, you must be weary, and my husband displays a most excellent table. You will fine yourself refreshed in the wine, and then we shall all sit together a while, for you must tell me all the news of the Mark." "And I shall be only too glad, sister," said Éomer, and he went into the house with them.  
Faramir's table was indeed overflowing with food, and the three felt themselves quite satisfied by the time they had finished and were sitting comfortably together in large covered chairs, goblets in the hands of the men, and Éowyn keeping up the conversation with many inquiries.  
When finally Éomer was spared from answering his sister, while she and Faramir debated some matter of politics in Minas Tirith, Éomer glanced back towards the great table, where a serving-woman was preparing a great silver tray with small portions of the supper they had only just eaten.  
"Why does that woman arrange a tray?" he asked the servant who had approached quietly to refill the King's goblet.  
"For the widow, milord," said the man. "She refuses to dine with the lord and lady of the house, and kindly they have obliged her meals be brought to her when she is confined in her chamber."  
"And what widow dwells in this house?" Éomer asked, but the serving- man had no chance to answer, for Éowyn's attention had been once again diverted to her brother, and the man slipped away into the shadows.  
"What do you say to the servant, brother?" she asked curiously.  
"Naught of any importance," said Éomer. "Have you come to an accord?"  
"We require your opinion," replied Faramir, his eyes twinkling merrily, for his wife was high-spirited, and always debates with her were enjoyable. "Will you settle this dispute, Éomer?"  
Smiling, Éomer held up his hand. "Were it any lady but you, sister," said he. "Or any man but the Prince of Ithilien, gladly would I oblige. But for want of keeping my chamber for at least one night, I must decline."  
"I love thee too dearly to discard thee so quickly, Éomer," replied Éowyn. "One day at least must you have, and so I will submit to my lord, and we shall retire. For tomorrow holds many more promises than this eve."  
They rose, and Éomer kissed his sister's brow, clasped hands with Faramir, and they parted for the evening. A serving-woman came with a candle and led Éomer through the winding halls towards the chamber that had been prepared for him.  
He stood for a time before the windows, looking out on the land that was Ithilien; it was green in its spring, but at night, it appeared dark and mysterious, even menacing.  
From this position he stirred only when the soft sound of footsteps could be heard in the corridor outside his chamber. A woman's footsteps were they, and he thought perhaps his sister had come with some message. He moved to the heavy oak door and opened it, only to find darkness in the hall.  
But when he glanced again, he saw a faint light bobbing at the end of the hall, flickering as a candle, and the soft sound of footsteps was fading. And just as the light disappeared round the corner, he caught the very faintest glimpse of a black silk skirt, swishing with hurried motion, and then the light disappeared, and darkness ran over the corridors once more.  
  
============================================================= Sorry so short. Probably should have made this a prologue. Will eventually be Éomer/Lothìriel as said in summary. Review please! 


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two  
  
Author's Note: This is the chapter that starts the parallel with Shakespeare. Pretty much the only chapter you'll really see it. //Rachel\\  
  
And to Lady Scribe of Avandell: Good guess, but no, it's not Cymbeline. It's a slightly obscure play I just finished reading, and it's being performed at our local community theater, so that's where this all came from.  
  
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The next morning dawned bright and clear, the great land of Ithilien showing itself at its best. Éomer rose with the sun and found to his delight that his sister had not come out of this childhood habit either. She sat alone in the great hall taking her breakfast when her brother appeared, glad once more to be near his only remaining kin.  
Faramir joined them soon and proposed a day of idleness, in order to properly introduce Éomer to Ithilien. A picnic on the banks of a small river, a tributary of the great Anduin, running literally just behind the house was proposed and gladly accepted. And so it was that Faramir, Éowyn, and Éomer bid their attendants to see to themselves, for the three would not be interrupted in their time together and would food in saddle bags if the need arose. For soon after they had breakfasted, they set themselves upon their horses and went off at a comfortable pace. Éowyn took as much joy in the land of Ithilien as she did the land of her birth, and she delighted in showing her brother every brook, stream, hill, and tree in the land surrounding their house, until Faramir took her horse by the reins and informed her that Éomer had many days to make the acquaintance of the trees, but now it was time to make acquaintance with the midday meal.  
They sat, talking, laughing, and eating by the banks of the river, which was hardly more than a bubbling stream. Éowyn sat very near the edge and often dipped her hands and feet into the cool, clear water. Once too many, Faramir caught her arm before she could again trail her fingers over the surface of the water.  
"You should be careful, my wife," he said. "For you are only just recovered, and I would not see thee abed again."  
At these words, Éomer looked up sharply. "Have you been ill, sister?"  
Éowyn tilted her chin up defensively. "Only a little," she replied indifferently. "I am well and strong, now."  
"I would that you had sent word, that I might have come sooner," said Éomer, looking slightly distressed. But Éowyn smiled gently and laid her hand over his.  
"More joy in the hour of your coming that I may bear my own weight and greet thee properly," she said reassuringly. "I shall not fall ill again, I promise you both. I eat well and sleep soundly, as one in great health. And as to sleep, did you fare well this night, brother?"  
"I am most in your debt in the way of accommodations," replied Éomer. "I have but one curiosity. Last night I heard a sound outside my door, yet when I opened it, all was black, save for a light at the end of the hall and the shadow of a woman's gown. I have heard the servants tell of a widow who dwells in your house, Faramir, and will not be seen. If it be not too impertinent, I would that you tell me this tale, for I am intrigued."  
Faramir and Éowyn exchanged troubled glances, and Faramir sighed heavily. "Alas," said he. "For the woman you saw is no widow. Indeed, she is---"  
But what the lady was, Éomer was left to wonder, for at that moment, the three of them became aware of the sound of hooves; a man on horseback approached swiftly. All stood and waited for him.  
The messenger dismounted and bowed to Faramir; he was a servant of the house. "My apologies, milord," said the man. "But a messenger from Minas Tirith awaits you in the hall, and he will see you immediately, as he must return to the city as soon as possible."  
Faramir nodded, and the man waited for his lord. Éowyn stood by Éomer's side, and the messenger saw she meant to stay behind.  
"I am truly sorry, milady," he said. "But the man has requested the presence of both the lord and lady of the house. He is resolute and will not wait, even when he is told the lord and lady are otherwise employed."  
Éowyn sighed. "Will you return with us?" she asked Éomer, but he shook his head, smiling at her.  
"Go and do your duty as lady of Ithilien," said he. "I will wait and explore a while longer, for I expect you shall return soon, if this man is in such haste. Do not regret, sister, for much time is ahead of us."  
Éowyn smiled and mounted her horse, and she, Faramir, and the servant rode quickly off to the house.  
Éomer did indeed set out exploring, though he went more leisurely and with less purpose than before. He did not ride but walked his horse and held the reins, pausing every so often to gaze at the view of the land.  
He stood atop a small hill, looking down and back towards the house when he took note of a figure moving in the valley, a black speck on the vivid green landscape. He watched as it moved steadily towards him and saw it was not one figure but several, all in black, and at the front of them was a woman, cloaked and veiled as one in mourning.  
The widow, thought he, who walks the halls at night. Is she but an apparition? How does she come here, but by walking, for her attendants have no horses. A long travail for an old widow.  
He stood still as the troupe made their way up the hill, taking no notice of him at all. But when they passed straight by him without a glance or word, he turned and called out, "Wait, lady!"  
The woman, who seemed not a woman at all for all her black crepe, paused and turned. Her face was veiled heavily, and her shape was concealed by layers upon layers of black fabric, making a wide and sweeping gown beneath which might have been a woman or an Orc, for all he could tell.  
"Art thou the widow, who dwells with the Lord Faramir and Lady Éowyn?" he inquired, moving to this strange woman.  
For a moment, naught was said, and then so quietly she spoke that he could barely hear, but her voice was bitter. "Take away this fool, I bid thee," she spoke to the waiting-woman over her shoulder.  
"Fool?" said Éomer, incredulous. "You know me not, yet you deem me a fool, lady? Then allow me to pay you the same courtesy and by so proving you the fool, keep my view of the land."  
Another pause from the woman, and then, "Thou cannot prove me a fool," said she, and her voice was cold and hard as steel.  
But Éomer plunged ahead. "Why do you mourn, lady?" asked he.  
"For the death of a loved one, fool," said she.  
"Of thy husband, lady?" he pressed.  
"Of my betrothed," she breathed.  
"And was your betrothed a mortal, madam?" Éomer asked.  
"He was," said she.  
"Then did he not receive the gift of the mortals, lady? To join with the music for all eternity?"  
Silence reigned, and when finally the lady bowed her head in resignation, Éomer bowed his as well. "My apologies, lady," said he, and he saw her head nod beneath the veils, and away she walked again, with no words more, and he watched until she disappeared over the hill, wondering where and why she went forth from the house. His mind plagued him even as he rode back to the house, as he dined that night, and in bed, when he listened for the sounds of footsteps once more, but they did not come.  
  
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Review if you can. This chapter is a big clue to what Shakespeare play the story is based on. Guesses welcome. 


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3  
  
AN: Good job to Lady Scribe of Avandell and Kezya for guessing the play. It's Shakespeare's Twelfth Night or What You Will. The conversation between Éomer and the widow was similar to that of Feste (the fool) and Olivia in the first act. I'd never heard of this play before the local theater slated it for this year, but I really enjoy it. Éomer doesn't really represent the fool, though; just for that conversation. However, the widow is probably going to be parallel to Olivia most of the time, if I keep on the right track. Thanks for your reviews!  
  
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When Éomer rose the next morning, he was not greeted by the sight of Éowyn at the breakfast table. Indeed, he did not make it to the table, for he was accosted in the corridors by Faramir, who paced and looked rather anxious.  
"What news?" asked Éomer, perhaps hoping that another messenger of the king had arrived.  
Faramir's manner was grave as he led Éomer through the house. "Éowyn is ill again," said he, and the lady's brother started and quickened their pace.  
"Of what malady?" Éomer asked.  
"A fever that drives her to nightmares," said Faramir. "Twas the same before. I warned her against so much activity when she was so newly recovered, but her joy at your presence was too great to heed any cautions I could have given. She calls for you, Éomer, and so I bring you to her. A servant has been sent for the healer, who will allow neither you nor me to see her until she awakens, so make best your time."  
Éomer followed Faramir into the chamber he and Éowyn shared, and lying in the bed, pale and still was his sister. He swiftly took the chair by her side and took her hand, feeling how cold her fingers were compared to her fevered brow.  
"Éowyn," he called woefully, but she did not answer, nor even stir. "Éowyn, sister, always did you put others before yourself. I would that you had stayed abed, that I had not come, rather than see you so."  
Faramir stood behind him, gazing worriedly down at his wife. "She would not have stayed in bed another moment," he replied, smiling fondly. "And if you had not come because of her illness, she would only have made herself ill again to spite us."  
"How did she recover before?" asked Éomer of his brother-in-law.  
"By time and patience," replied Faramir gravely. "I saw naught but her door until she was at last out of the fever. I damn the healer for his stubbornness, but he is the best, and he brought her back after all."  
"And so shall return the lady once more, by your leave, my lord," came a voice from the doorway. Both Faramir and Éomer turned to see an old and bent man crossing the threshold, carrying a worn bag and looking curiously at Éowyn as she lay quietly in the bed.  
"She is worse," he murmured, brushing his fingers across her forehead. When he saw that Faramir and Éomer stood still behind him, he turned angrily and waved them out. "It will not do to have three abed instead of one," he said, closing the door loudly behind them.  
Éomer and Faramir took seats in high-backed chairs that had appeared from servants.  
"He will appear soon, and say that we must wait," said Faramir to Éomer, who was tapping his foot impatiently. "Come, take your mind from your sister. Is there nothing of interest in Rohan to speak of?" "Naught that I can think of now that I am required," replied Éomer. "But perhaps there is one note on which you might expand. Yesterday, I encountered a woman on your grounds, clothed completely in black and with many attendants, also in black. I heard her called a widow, and I hear tell she dwells in your house. She spoke few words with me and left me more curious than before. If it is not too bold, I would hear this tale from your mouth, which I trust more than the whispering of servants." Faramir sighed and shook his head sadly. "Odd that you would ask of her," he said. "At such a time, as well. The woman is no widow, but a lady fair and fierce. She suffered a great hurt in the War of the Ring, when her beloved and betrothed rode to the fields of Pelennor and was there slain. She has vowed she will not take in the sight of company of men for the rest of her life, and went into mourning for her beloved. Her father sent her to me in hopes that I and the lady Éowyn could draw her out of her seclusion, but she will not speak or dine with us, and she appears once a day, to walk the grounds in mystery and silence." "A tragic tale, to be sure," Éomer replied. "But who is this lady?" "She is my cousin," Faramir replied dolefully. "Lothìriel, lady of Dol Amroth, the daughter of Imrahil."  
Éomer sat in shocked silence for a moment. "My sympathies," he said at last. "For the grievance of your cousin."  
Faramir nodded, but said no more, for then the door opened, and they both flew to their feet.  
But the healer opened the door only wide enough to stick his face out. "The lady of the house is gravely ill," said he. "And she will be allowed no visitors but those attendants you send me for aid. I will notify your lordship if her condition changes."  
And before either of them could say another word, the door closed firmly in their faces, and they heard the click of the lock on the other side.  
Éomer growled fiercely at the door and began to pace, but Faramir sat patiently, head in hands, listening almost amusedly to his brother-in-law's nervous footfalls.  
"No word will come for hours, Éomer," said Faramir at last, when Éomer had stopped pacing and rested his head on the smooth stone wall. "Go and take a breath of fresh air, for I am accustomed to waiting and have business to attend to, while you are restless and a guest. Return when night falls, and then we will have news."  
Éomer sighed in resignation, nodded at Faramir, and strode purposefully out of the room. He made his way out of the grand doors of the house and down the first flight of stone steps to the landing that lay before the second flight, leading to the ground. He stood at the rail and looked out on the country his sister had come to call home, thinking it almost as fair as she, and yet not as worthy of a place in her heart as Rohan. And as he thought of Éowyn, he buried his face in his hands, frustrated and grieved, for among his bravery and bold deeds, he had one weakness that was easy to see: he could not bear to see his sister unhappy. He had felt a large part of himself gone when he thought her dead on the Fields of Pelennor, and words could not describe the moment in which she awoke and spoke to him again, in the Houses of Healing in Minas Tirith. How long he stood there in such a manner, he knew not. His next recollection was the sound of a voice, lilting sweetly through the air behind him.  
"Why do you stand so before the people of Ithilien, good sir?"  
Éomer turned, and he felt a shock, as though he had been startled or suddenly frightened. He thought himself blind, perhaps, or even dead, for there stood before him a lady so beautiful that she could not be real. She stood tall on the last stair behind him, robed in a flowing white gown of silk that the wind caught and played with like a leaf. Her skin was white and fair as her gown, and in contrast, her hair black as ebony, twisted and pinned to her head and bound in silver that shone on her heart-shaped face. Her eyes were crystal blue, and roses bloomed on her cheeks as though she were a maid of ten or twelve and not a woman. It was she who had spoken, for she gazed at him with her piercing eyes and awaited his answer.  
At last, he found his voice. "The lady Éowyn is ill once more, my lady," he replied. "And I grieve, for I fear she is abed due to my arrival."  
The woman approached him and stood at the rail. "You are familiar with the lady of the house then," she said, her voice like a song. "She is a good lady, and strong, and I am grieved as well, to hear of her illness. Wherefore did you come to Ithilien, sir? To visit with the lord Faramir?"  
"And with the lady Éowyn, for she is my sister and the last of my kin," replied Éomer.  
At this, the young woman seemed rather flustered. She took a sudden step backwards and moved her arms awkwardly, as though she knew not what to do with them. Finally, she knelt swiftly to the ground, bowing her head.  
"You are Éomer, King of the Mark, then," she said, her voice nervous. "My most sincere apologies, my lord, for I knew not."  
Éomer was befuddled, and he knelt, offering her his hand. She eyed him nervously, then took it and rose.  
"What is your name, my lady?" he asked.  
She hesitated, then said, "I am Rîne, waiting-woman to the lady Lothìriel of Dol Amroth."  
Éomer was taken aback for a moment, but he looked as unruffled as usual, and said only, "Rîne is an odd name for a lady of Dol Amroth."  
She laughed. "Indeed, my lord," she said. "My father is not a noble man, by far, but we are not indigent, and so he gave to his children noble names and sent me to wait on the lady, in hopes of procuring for me a marriage above my station. A title to fit the name, he says."  
"It is a fine name," said he, and a question rose in his mind. "I spoke yesterday with your lady," he said. "While she walked about the hills. Were you among her attendants? For they were veiled and robed in black, and yet you stand here in white, as a bride on her wedding day and not a woman in mourning."  
"I was there, my lord," said she. "And my lady was intrigued by the exchange you made with her. She sent out her attendants this morning, save for myself, and bid me to go in my own garb and seek out the man she had met yesterday and make her apologies. My lady is humble, lord, or so she would like to think, and she sends her most sincere apologies for her swift judgment and hopes that you will send with me word of forgiveness."  
Éomer smiled and nodded at her. "You must tell your lady she need never ask forgiveness, for she was in the right to call me a fool. I am a fool to trifle with so pure and noble a woman as she, who was withstood such tragic times."  
For some reason, these words stirred the young maid. "My lady does not take kindly to pity," said she, her bright eyes shining. "She believes herself strong, and will not think well of those who shower her with pity for doing what she believes is fit and proper."  
Éomer looked confused again. For one of little higher rank than a servant, this woman spoke nobly, eloquently, as freely as she wanted, as though she were used to doing so. "I apologize, lady," he said, for looking at her, he could think of her as nothing but a lady. "I meant no offense. I do not offer pity, if it is scorned, but compassion for your lady's situation."  
The woman called Rîne nodded. "I must away," she said. "To tend my lady." She turned to leave, one foot on the first step already.  
"Wait," said Éomer, and he caught her arm instinctively. She turned, startled, but she looked him in the eye and said nothing.  
"Surely the lady Lothìriel has many attendants to wait on her," he said. "My mind is heavy with thoughts of my sister's malady. I would that I knew the land better, so that in times of melancholy and solitude, I might entertain myself. I desire better acquaintance---with the land, that is. Will you be so kind, lady?"  
He smiled almost imperceptibly, and Rîne was entranced. He did not seem to be a man who smiled often, so grave was his face, despite his youth. She turned and stepped down again.  
"I would be delighted, my lord," she said, and she took the arm he offered her, and they made their way down the flight of stone steps to the grounds. And those that saw them wondered at the sight of the King of Rohan, smiling and listening attentively to a mysterious woman in white, the face of whom none had seen before, but of beauty that was altogether too familiar.  
  
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Hope you like! Review if you can! 


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